


My Greatest Creation

by Trammel



Series: Out of the Wormhole [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3295988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trammel/pseuds/Trammel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony tries to block out his father's voice, but he can't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Greatest Creation

"What is and always will be my greatest creation… is you." Howard says from the screen, even trying a small smile.

A smile? _Really? Fucking really?_ Who is he performing for?

No. No, you will not buy that bullshit. His face "fatherly" for once, or what he must imagine fatherly to be like, on the screen. On the goddamn screen. No. What did he expect, did he think you would broadcast it to the world, so the world could see Howard's greatness once again? Bow down to him? Thank him for all that he has given it?

_…my greatest creation._ No. So everything you do, everything you ARE, will reflect on him, lead back to him, make HIM look good? No.

He _didn't_ create you. He made you create yourself. Over and over and over again. And none of the versions were acceptable. None of them. So now here he is again, to guide you, put you back on track, make you do what he wants.

And you hate that you want it. You hate that you want that smile from him, approval from him. _Anything_ from him. That your bones and your blood and your skin come from him in some way. Your features reflect him. That he's in your heart.

And you want to scream. Get up from your seat and tear at the screen until it is nothing but ragged bits in  your hands, throw your glass to hear the beautiful crashing sound of it shattering, tear at your own skin until it bleeds. You feel that crying five year-old inside you and somehow you hate him too. Hate him for being so weak and needy and broken.

So you don't scream. You just sit there and watch, and slowly bring the glass up to your mouth. It helps, it does. That burning sensation down your throat, doing what _he_ taught you. Drinking, like a man. Medicating yourself this way. The only way.

Pushing it all down. Locking it all away. Drowning it.

Because that's what Starks do, isn't it?

You bring the glass to your mouth again, don't let anything show, don't break your façade, even though you're alone. You just drink.

It helps, a bit. It helps.

 


End file.
